Summer is officially over and now that many years have past, I finally feel comfortable to discuss openly a situation that happened [to me] that has haunted me every day for years.
Said incident happened on an abnormally warm late summer day in New York City. I was living in Williamsburg at the time (before the Apple Store & Whole Foods). NY taught me a lot… that being poor is not fun, that carrying my soiled clothes down Bedford Ave (the hippest/busiest street in Brooklyn) to the closest laundry mat was demoralizing, and that working out helped me more mentally than it did physically.
I was very mentally broken during my time in New York, so I worked out a lot…maybe too much…(you can read more on that in an earlier blog where I talk about how I got the nickname “Garage-Sale Skeletor” from a drunk on the street 😅) I LOVE NY. I digress…
So to sum it up: Working out a lot, running A LOT… still mentally “meh”, but active.
*Side note: I am a runner. I ran track in HS. I ran a half marathon. I run for fun. Not my first rodeo.
When you run a lot… there is something about the salt of your sweat, or just the friction of the movement… but basically your nipples get destroyed. -To paint you a picture, imagine writing my life story w/ a number 2 pencil, and then erasing all the bad parts… very quickly that eraser is going to get to that metal part (and then it’s going to make that awful sound and tear your paper), that is how my [a runner’s] nipples feel. It’s not uncommon to see blood stained shirts at the end of a marathon… an amateur move!
Back to the story… My cookies were pretty chapped when I decided I would go to the gym… being a pro I put vaseline on my nips, put on a wife beater, grabbed my bag and walked through Bedford Ave, to the “L” train, transferred to the “6” got off at Astor Place and walked to David Barton Gym (RIP gym, Equinox had nothing on DBG, pure opulence)…
During that commute, I couldn’t help but think that nobody in NY had ever seen a real life goddess before. I was getting stares from across the street, in the subway all eyes were on me… I was feeling myself and loving my newfound not un-wanted attention.
It was all going great, until I got in the David Barton locker room and I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror…To my horror, the vaseline I put on my tots had lubed through my thin wife beater and it looked like some sort of art exhibit of my pepperoni titties on full display (think Mean Girls in the scene when they cut holes through their tops…but unlike the movies because at least they had bras under). This was my own personal wet t-shirt contest, but just 2 fully translucent perfect circles on my chest. Free The Nipple?
I don’t think I’m doing the story justice so I’ll paint another picture… People in NY don’t look twice if they see someone shitting on the street, they are unphased by subway rats that are bigger than Sophie, but somehow the oddity of the placement (a fully opaque top with just 2 fully see-through globes) or maybe they thought a male was lactating… stopped the people of NY in their tracks. -And for that I just have to say, “My eyes are up here!”
Wow it feels good to get that off my chest… LOL See what I did there… hahahaha
Brett Dreissig
